


buy you a rose

by yaxleywrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M, artist!James
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaxleywrites/pseuds/yaxleywrites
Summary: James has spent half his life searching for the perfect colors, it's only natural that Lily always seems to be the right shade. (jily drabble)





	

**Author's Note:**

> i actually don’t know what this is, i was listening to buy you a rose by AJR and suddenly i was writing. there was no plot in mind, literally no direction. just two little idiots and some background music. could be described as firsts and lasts w/ colors. originally posted on tumblr.

james swears on his mother’s favorite blue sweater that he’s _never_ seen eyes such a bright shade of green–like the color of the frogspawn in his father’s potions kits, or the stems of the roses he carefully grows for his mum in the back gardens. really, james hasn’t seen eyes that weren’t blue or brown and had assumed that it wasn’t possible for people to have eyes any other color–but he’s **eleven** and _naive_ , cut him some slack. he wants to ask her if they’re her real eye color, (you can’t _actually_ have eyes the color of clovers, and moss, and caterpillars) but he and his mum had discussed inside thoughts and outside thoughts for three hours yesterday and he really thinks she’d be disappointed if he couldn’t last a **week** without mixing the two up.

but _really_ , her eyes can’t **possibly** be real.

james shifts in his seat, his fingers twitching at his sides. he’s pretty sure he could draw her eyes, if he mixed his two favorite green pencils with a _bit_ of yellow and blue. he tilts his head sideways, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. he’d need brown as well, if he wanted to get the edges right (which he did). he’d have to owl his mum when he got to the castle, he’d only brought half his pencils from home (a **clear** mistake, he’d _told_ his dad he’d need the whole set). maybe he’d be able to catch her within the first week of classes and have her sit for a portrait–it’d be the only way to get the exact color perfect, and even _then_ he’d have to watch the lighting. 

lily’s pretty sure she’s never met a boy who stared so blatantly at a girl whilst she cried without once offering condolences, a handkerchief, or _something_ at the very least aside from two wide eyes that won’t move from her own. she rubs her sleeve over her cheeks, brushing the tears away from her eyes, and shoots her best glare at the stupid git who can’t seem to take a hint. pulling her knees to her chest, she shuffles her body towards the wall and glares some more.   


“would you quit staring?” lily finally snaps, her lips in a pronounced pout.   


“sorry,” james mutters, not moving his eyes from hers–and it dawns on him in that moment, he knows that color, its not grass or clover or peppers or any other ridiculous shade of green (how could he _be_ so _stupid_ , its so **obvious** ). “it’s just–your eyes are almost the _exact_ _same_ _color_ as **algae**.” 

her eyes narrow, and james knows immediately that that should’ve been an inside thought as her shoe hits his head.

* * *

all of the students, and professors, and books, and literally every reputable source describe the lake on the hogwarts grounds as the black lake, but james is prepared to fight half of those people because he’s certain that theres shades of purple and red swirling in the depths that have nothing to do with the squid or merfolk that swim within its depths. sirius claims it to be a trick of the light, every time he brings it up. he doesn’t need sirius’ recognition to know he’s right though. all the proof he needs comes in the shaking form of evans, who stands before him in a near transparent school blouse that once was white but is now stained purple. 

he’s pretty certain she’s glaring at him (he didn’t even _do_ anything, he hadn’t realized what sirius was doing until he’d heard the splash and by then, well he couldn’t exactly do more than pull her out of the water could he?) but all he can do is stare at her shirt as it drips with lilac and violet and a dark grey that when mixed together looks like the universe and definitely could be mistaken for black by anyone without an artists eye. 

in the end he trades lily his cloak for her blouse–he swears on his dad’s amaryllis that he’s only trying to be a gentleman, and he’ll return her shirt to her promptly,  _really_. she’s hesitant, because they’re sixteen and sirius is standing at his side, but he really _didn’t_ do anything and she thinks she might be half in love with him anyway. 

“oh brilliant evans, you won’t regret this i swear.” he’s draping his cloak around her shoulders, shielding his body in front of hers as she unbuttons the soaking shirt and ties the cloak tightly against her chest. “i’ve been trying to determine the color of the lake for ages, but i’ve never thought to put it on fabric while looking at it–this is going to be _perfect_.”

* * *

“you know you’re the only redhead i’ve ever met.” james states matter of factly, as though he hadn’t just been discussing quidditch scores with the gideon who’s hair is even more shocking than her own. lily scoffs, pursing her lips and eyeing the two prewett boys (now standing together with benjy and sirius) and wondering when her boyfriend lost his mind. “you do realize you were just speaking with gid a moment ago, right sweetheart?”

he winces at her tone, but shakes his head assuredly. he taps his index finger against the back of her hand, and twirls a bit of her hair around his other.

james wants to tell her that the prewett boys are made up of oranges–bright shades that could rival fruit and fire. it’s a brilliant color, one that he’s drawn with on several occasions over the years. it’s the color of his dad’s favorite mug, and the collars his mum got for the dogs in fourth year before they ( ~~he~~ ) left them in the woods. 

but _her_ hair. he’d tried to draw it _over_ and _over_ but couldn’t ever get it quite right–not with pencils, oils, or watercolors. she was a shade between the roses he’d taken to buying her for holidays and the scarlet ties they’d worn for seven years in the castle. (he thinks that its closest to the color running through his veins, but that might just be because both shades are close to his heart.) the two aren’t comparable, really no color he’s _ever_ seen could rival the color that falls from her head in waves. 

“they’re gingers lil, it’s different.” and lily just nods because she doesn’t understand, but somehow she hopes that she does.  


* * *

lily nudges his knee with her foot and holds out one of two steaming mugs filled to the brim with tea and sugar. james grunts in response, two colored pencils clutched tightly in his fingers. she wants to tell him that the two colors are exactly the same–even more than the last two colors were when she DID tell him exactly that. but figures she can’t escape to the kitchen twice in ten minutes because of her inability to hold her own tongue. 

he scratches against the parchment with one pencil, his brows crinkling together tightly as he stares at the color it leaves behind. he stares for several moments that feel like an eternity as she stands there holding two burning mugs–before doing exactly the same with the other pencil. 

“james,” she sighs, placing his mug atop a torn bit of parchment, whilst cradling her own. “they’re nearly the same color, just choose one and be **done** with it.” but james shakes his head with vehemence. 

“they’re _not_ the same lil,” his voice is low, and he’s pulling the parchment towards his face squinting between the two blues. “merlin, i don’t think either of these is right.” 

james’ head falls backwards as he swears loudly. his fingers are gripping the edges of the parchment so tightly he thinks it’ll probably tear but it doesn’t matter because the baby’s bedroom is meant to look like the color of the sea, and the blues he’s looking between match more closely to the sky of cokeworth. both colors have strong memories attached to them–but cokeworth has petunia and snape and smoggy clouds that make him sick just thinking about them. he wants his baby to be surrounded only by his and lily’s happiest memories; crashing waves and stones skipping across their crests. “i just want it to be _perfect_.”

lily nods, her fingers grazing over her stomach where a slight bump has begun to rise. they’re nineteen and totally not cut out for this–at least, she doesn’t feel cut out for this. just scared and nervous and slightly motion sick. but james is scrubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, and she can’t imagine anyone she’d rather have as the father of her child than some idiot artist who’s so worried about _one_ shade of a _single_ color that will go into a mix of several other colors (all of which) he’s painstakingly chosen _just_ to capture a single emotionfor their baby’s nursery. 

but james drapes his fingers over her hand, and smiles crookedly at her, his other hand toying with two new pencil colors. she rolls her eyes (because they’ll never sleep at this rate), but he’s babbling about memories and scribbling with colors, and maybe she’ll never understand why he’s so specific but she loves him for it anyway.


End file.
